Man on the Inside
by Redsayn
Summary: During the climax of Fantastic Beasts, Percival Graves is struck by his horror, rage and a long-held hatred rising to the surface once more. In his frenzy, he lashes out at all those present in an awe-inspiring display of power, yet the swirl of his thoughts are just as impressive as the potency he displayed. Read, and find out about the man behind the stern, calculating façade.


**Man on the inside**

Credence's remains were scattered throughout the air. The Obscurus' remnants, mere cloth-like material, were floating, caught in the wind- one stray item found itself falling, and dissipating upon contact with the tip of Graves' downturned wand.

The Wizard's breath was coming out ragged. A blanket of shock was descending upon him. Without noticing, he had taken steps forward, climbing onto the stone platform. His eyes would not leave the black, liquid-looking tatters which could have been his greatest weapon in the war to come.

His wand was pointed at the ground, yet that did not stop him from contemplating the numerous different ways that he could extinguish the lives of everyone in the vicinity; an explosion of murderous light, electrified air, summoning charms used in ways they never should have been… tried and tested and increasingly painful and violent ways of ending the petty existences of everyone there flashed in his mind- it took all of his self-control not to make use of them. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, he kept his voice as civilised as possible, but even he could not completely restrain the disappointment that leaked out from him at the Aurors' actions- Wizards and Witches firing upon and killing one of their own for something they could not control? The deed they had committed was so ghastly, so animalistic, so _human_ , that he almost screamed at them. Yet when he spoke, it was with his disappointment, and not his fury.

"You fools… do you realise what you've done?"

His seething was interrupted as a group of Aurors parted, and Madam Picquery emerged from where she had been cowering. Her tone was steely; uncompromising, unwilling to accept the truth of both this and many, many other matters, though still questioning all as if she were a stubborn, curious child.

"The Obscurial was killed on my orders, Mr Graves."

"Yes." Graves strolled towards them, as if he were having a walk in the park. When he continued speaking, it was with an exhaustion that almost displayed his frustration at having been in the presence of such close-minded infants for such an irritating amount of time. "And history will surely note that, Madam President."

Graves' tone transformed. Now there was a harsh, threatening undercurrent beneath the outwardly civilised demeanour.

"What was done here today was not right!"

Picquery responded with all the straight-backed, proud arrogance of a politician. "He was responsible for the death of a No-Maj. He risked the exposure of our community. He had broken one of our most sacred laws-"

"A law that has us scuttling like rats in the gutter!" Graves said, sounding simultaneously amused and bitter. "A law that demands that we conceal our true nature-a law that directs those under its dominion to cower in fear lest we risk discovery! I ask you Madam President-"

Graves' eyes flashed between each and every person in front of him with nauseating speed.

"-I ask all of you. Who does this law protect? Us?" He gestured vaguely to the numerous No-Majs above them, the kinetic energy in his hand seemingly almost depleted, such was the almost lethargic way with which he moved.

"Or them?"

Graves looked into the faces of everyone there, and saw only horror, confusion and a slight, dreaded anticipation. In his disappointment, his shoulders slumped, and he emitted a defeated aura that utterly conflicted with the uncompromising determination he had radiated for so long. His mouth twisted into an almost forced, bitter smile.

He recognised everyone there, could recite them all by name, considered many of them as friends, and now it was time to say goodbye. One way or another.

"I refuse to bow down any longer."

Without any further consideration, he turned around and started towards the subway exit. Behind him, Graves heard the reluctant yet determined voice of Picquery.

"Aurors, I'd like you to relieve Mr Graves of his wand and escort him back to-"

Graves stopped, but not due to fear, obedience or anger. A shimmering, illuminating wall of energy appeared inches away from him, blocking his path to freedom- their only hope of survival.

Graves sighed silently, his face transforming into an expression of irritation and derision. He rotated, his wand raised.

He strode confidently back along the platform, his wand flashing and stabbing, parrying and redirecting blasts of powerful flashes of light. It was as if there was a permanent shield around him- nothing any of the Aurors could do could pierce his defences. Opponent after opponent was sent flying, not dead but unconscious as a showing of his vast superiority. Graves' victory was imminent.

A blue blur streaked around the confined space, the beast's manoeuvrability resulting in it intercepting all of Graves' redirected and increasingly destructive spells faster than even he could fire.

Graves drew back his wand, fully intent on ending the pesky creature's life before it could cause him any further infuriation-

A rope-like spell encircled his torso and arms. Graves' eyes widened in indignant shock, and despite his furious struggling he collapsed to his knees. His wand fell limply out of his hand. Yet as it did so, Graves felt something, as though it was a breeze in a wind that should not have been there.

" _Accio!_ " And he turned around, a hatred in his dark eyes that transcended all else as Percival's dark, insufficient wand flew passed him, and into the hand of the Goldstein girl. Albus' pet student had his wand raised, steadily approaching at a cautious. His lips moved, and his wand issued a compulsory order.

" _Revelio."_

Graves closed his eyes, panting. His face was pained and strained, his every cell struggling against an indomitable force. He felt something happening beneath his skin, his bones rewriting themselves and his DNA morphing back into their original state. He knew that his hair was fading into a lighter blonde colour, an unwanted moustache morphing into existence. He knew that his skin had turned pallid, the lack of direct light having taken an unfortunate effect; he knew his hair had whitened as a result of having been masquerading for so long (a necessary sacrifice in order to protect the potency of the enchantment), and he knew that he had lost so much and had gained nothing in return.

The Dark Wizard heard the customary mutters swirling from in front of him, and a singular pair of unnaturally quick footsteps. His mouth curled into an ironic smile, and Grindelwald's eyes tore open. The terrified faces of Aurors greeted him, as did Picquery's shaken stature. Their child-like fear made him feel hatred that was greater than any individual in this vast, elongated room.

"Do you think you can hold me?" His voice was a silky, low, hateful hiss.

Picquery was silent for a moment, gathering her words. "We'll do our best, Mr Grindelwald."

Grindelwald stared intently at the Witch, his expression of disgust morphing into a relaxed, almost undetectable smile. Two emotionless Aurors raised him to his feet in a rough manner, yet he rose as if by his own accord. They marched him towards the staircase of the station, and as they did so he saw Scamander, staring at him, from the corner of his eye.

He paused, and the Aurors unwillingly complied. Grindelwald stared at Scamander, Dumbledore's pet, the new 'Master' of the Elder Wand. His mouth curled into a grotesque mixture of a sneer and a smile.

Scamander rose his eyes to meet Grindelwald's, and at that moment Grindelwald knew exactly what he was going to do…

"Will we die, just a little?"

He released his hold over the Aurors, and they lead him out of the room, Newt Scamander watching, bemused.


End file.
